


Hangin Out, Drinkin Juice, Gettin Drunk, Having Soup

by MWDG



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Banter, College, F/M, Fluff, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23598514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MWDG/pseuds/MWDG
Summary: Steven moves across the country to live near Connie while she's at college, and they've been hanging out almost every weekend since.Here are a collection of their weekends.(It's very fluffy. Absolutely no plot, just two bros talking.)(I'll try to update every week)
Relationships: Connie Maheswaran/Steven Universe
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	Hangin Out, Drinkin Juice, Gettin Drunk, Having Soup

**Author's Note:**

> In this one, Connie's annoyed about her Art History Class, but it's chill. Later they go out to get Pho.

The sun was setting, the sky was a blush. Connie called Steven to let him know she was on her way down. She crossed campus, passing under the high trees, and over the new, white pavement and the old, cracked pavement. Past the School of Business, and the Science department. She reached the back gate behind the dorms, and her pace quickened a little as she spotted Steven’s Dondai parked across the street. She skipped over, tapping the window to get Steven’s attention so he’d unlock the passenger side. 

“Hey,” she said. She threw her bag in the back and slid in, heaving a tremendous sigh. As they pulled out of their spot, and drove off, Steven noticed Connie relaxing a little. 

“How was your day?” Steven asked.

“It was alright. I’ve been feeling a little off today,” said Connie, “And Art History is really kicking my ass.” 

“Is this that _Peter Balkin_ guy?” Steven scoffed.

Connie groaned, “Yeah. He gave us this art analysis essay thing for next class but I already have two other papers due for Tuesday. And it’s about this fuckin painting. So like— he did this lecture on Orientalism, right?”  
“What’s Orientalism again?”

“It’s like the west's fascination with the 'east.' It’s been happening in Europe since the Middle Ages—and it’s still happening today actually. But we were mostly looking at these 1800’s paintings of North Africa and the Middle East. Actually, most of them hadn’t actually been to the places they were painting, they were just making shit up. And of course they were fascinated with the idea of naked brown women.”

“Ew.”

“Yeah. It’s basically like Europe's massive fetishization of whatever wasn't _them,"_ Connie said, “But anyway, he stops the lecture at this one harem painting, and looks right at me, and then he says _I bet Connie knows what this is all about_.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I DON’T KNOW! Like… why would he single me out? Why would I know any more than anyone else? Was it because I’m Indian?” 

“That’s so fucked up.” 

“Yeah.”

“Can you talk to him about it? He’s done this before, right?”

“Yeah… but I wouldn’t even know where to start,” Connie buried her face in her hands with frustrated laughter. “Most of the time it's just little stuff, but it builds up you know?”

“I’m sorry that happened.”

“It’s fine. I have to figure out a way to analyze this painting without losing my mind…" Connie took a deep breath and leaned back in her seat, "But I don't have to worry about anything else until at least tomorrow.” She smiled at Steven, who glanced over at her, smiling back.

“How was your day?” she asked.

“Pretty good! Nothin new. I did my classes. I went to work. It was kind of slow today.”

“How are you classes going?”

“They’re kind of fun! I’m getting the hang of school a little more,” Steven paused, glancing over again, “I… like homework.”

Connie gasped and Steven laughed, “You do? Even after watching me stress out for all those years?”

“I just like feeling productive.”

“Of course you do.”

“I like keeping my mind active!”

“You’re turning into a nerd,” Connie giggled. 

“Being a nerd is cool, Connie,” said Steven, “You would know.”

“Oof. You got me,” Connie chuckled.

They arrived at Steven’s apartment building, and parked at the end of the block. He lived at the edge of town, the trees were tall, shrubs grew out of people’s gates, and in the empty lot across the street, someone had started a garden. The houses were squat old row-houses, compact and made of brick and clapboard. Steven’s apartment was on the fourth floor of an especially pretty old building with a porch that always needed to be swept. Inside it was dry and dim, and the very old stairs squeaked when mounted. One could hear every person that came and left, much to the resident’s chagrin. They trudged up the stairs, and Steven unlocked his door, both of them a little winded. Connie set her bag down by the door and sunk onto the couch, sighing pleasantly. Steven flicked the switch and headed to the kitchen. It was cosy, the couch took up a lot of space against the wall; the distance between it, and the linoleum tiles of the kitchen functioned as the whole living room. The window faced the back patio and usually brought in a lot of sun. It also brought in the cigarette smoke from the next door neighbor.

“What do you want to drink?” Steven asked, scrutinizing the inside of the fridge.

“Do you have orange juice?” Asked Connie.

“No,” he replied, “I have apple though.”

“Juice boxes?” Connie asked excitedly.

“Who do you think I am?” Steven scoffed, “Of _course_ juice boxes.”

“Yay!”

Steven tossed her a box and joined her on the couch. “Why don’t more people drink juice boxes?” He asked. 

“I know! They’re such a delight,” Connie replied, “Although I guess the tiny straws aren’t too great for the sea.”

“Oh yeah. Damn,” said Steven, “I should just get the jug next time.”

“Wait, but that feels like _more_ plastic… at least the boxes are made of paper,” Connie replied.

“Yeah, but if I got a jug, I’d cut down on my waste by not having so many juice boxes to throw out,” Steven said.

“Yeah, but you’d also be empowering Mega-Plastic-Jug Corporation.”

“True…” Steven replied, “But Mega-Jug, probably also owns Mega-Tiny-Straw so… no matter what we do we’re screwed.”

Connie finished her juice and hefted herself off the couch to throw the box away. Returning, she flopped back down, leaning against Steven, who wrapped an arm around her.

“For the essay, Do you have to stick to what you learned in class, or can you just do the analysis on your own terms?” Steven asked.

“What? Oh,” Connie furrowed her brow, “We can say whatever we want, but we just have to stick to this formula he taught us— why?”

“I mean, if anything your take— like your perspective would be killer. Show up with _facts_ and _quotes_ and stuff _._ ”

Connie chuckled, “You know I did think about doing that. I was gonna pull out quotes from Edward Said and everything, but then I thought, I also have two other essays due, so maybe I’ll just do it the easy way and be done with it.”

“Hm.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed, Mr. _I love homework,”_ Connie laughed.

“I just thought it’d be cool to stick it to that racist old professor.”

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna write a bad performance review at the end of the semester.”

“But like… Haven’t you ever just had that feeling in your gut? Like you’ve been scorned so now you’ve gotta prove yourself?”

“Oh yeah, totally! One _well researched paper_ as vengeance against a semester of covert bullshit, that’ll teach him,” Connie teased, “You’re a real rebel Steven.”

“What can I say, the Gem Rebel spirit is with me always,” Steven slapped his belly and Connie laughed. 

“Do Gems ever write papers?”

“Oh yeah tons. So much paperwork,” Said Steven in joking seriousness, “Taxes and things. You know.”

“Wait Did Pearl do taxes? Or Garnet?” Connie asked “It seems like something they’d enjoy.”

Steven paused, furrowing his brow, “God it does…” he said, “But the Gems don’t have paying jobs, and I never saw a utility bill… I never asked my dad about it either… He must’ve dome them. I’m not sure.”

“Huh.”

“Nobody ever told me about doing _my_ taxes though. Apparently I’m supposed to subtract 15% from paycheck so I can just pay the tax people everything at once.”

“Wow. Is that a fact?” Connie deadpanned. 

“That’s a _tax_ fact.”

“A fax— t”

“A … fax…”

“Hmm.”

“Hm.” 

“What do you want for dinner?” Steven asked.

Connie shrugged against him, “Should we order food? We can use my grub-hub.” Said Connie

“You sure?” Steven asked

“Yeah!”  
Steven’s face lit up, “Wait! Did I ever take you to that Pho place over on Larkin?”

“No! Is it new?”

“I don’t think so, but when I walked home that one night I found it and I’ve always wanted to go.”

“I’m down!”

“Great!”

It was newly dark outside, the sky was a vibrant navy blue, the air still warm from the day. They walked hand in hand up the street. Connie really did like Steven’s neighborhood, but she figured she liked it more because Steven was there. She wondered if his very presence caused the plants to grow a little taller, and the birds to sing prettily. She’d joked that he was in many ways like a Disney princess, which Steven had taken as high praise. She liked the flow they had. He’d moved two and a half years ago, in Connie’s second semester of freshmen year, and since then, they’d hung out every weekend. Steven had intended to begin his life in a new place; get a job, and an apartment, be independent. The Gems were distraught, but supportive, and Greg insisted that he’d have his back financially if he ever needed it. Connie and Steven had decided it only made sense that he come live near her, there had never really been any question. If anything, the conversation was very quick: 

_“I’m thinking of moving out of Beach City and starting my life.” Steven had said._

_“That’s great news! I’m so proud of you! I actually just saw an apartment for rent out here, should I send you the Zillow?” Connie had replied._

_“Wait… Actually, Yeah! That’d be awesome!”_

_"Is that a problem?”_

_“No! But, you’re sure want me to come live near you? Aren’t you an independent woman now?” Steven asked, a little worry in his voice._

_“I am an independent woman! but I’m also an independent woman who misses your ass.”_

_“What if… I’m an independent man now?”_

_“Hm. What if you are?”_

_He sighed, “I’m also an independent man who misses you so so much, and I love you and miss being near you.”_

_“That’s what I thought. there I just sent the link.”_

As they neared the restaurant, the fragrance of the soup inside hit them before they even saw the sign. Steven nearly fell over. It was a tiny place, it didn’t look like much on the outside, but there was no mistaking the quality. Steven ordered a bowl, and Connie gave up on trying to get him to split it and ordered one for herself. 

“You can’t _split_ Pho, Connie,” Steven said. 

“Yes you _can_ and _should_.”

“It’s perfectly engineered to fill _one_ person’s belly.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Said Connie, “that’s your big stomach privilege talking. I always end up leftovers.” 

“Uhhh leftovers are the best. I’d say that’s small stomach privilege,” Steven rebutted.

“But my leftovers are never enough for the next day you know? I always end up with a _little._ And then I feel like I need to eat less in the moment because I should be saving it for later.”

“I guess that’s a valid point,” said Steven, “I always add more stuff to mine. If I have leftover Pho, I just add more chicken broth and veggies and stuff.”

“Well that defeats the purpose of having leftovers.”

“Yeah but I don’t mind. I like cooking.”

“You’ve gotten good at it,” Connie said. 

Steven smiled, “It was only a matter of time. I like food too much not to.”

It was true, one of his pursuits as an independent adult was to hone his cooking skills. He'd always been extraordinarily creative in the kitchen, now it was only a matter of edibility and nutrition. Sometimes on payday they'd make a whole evening of it; lugging groceries home, and Connie carefully trying to chop an onion while Steven danced around the kitchen, tossing spices into things with abandon. Steven's magnum opus so far had been a pizza with the dough and sauce made from scratch.

Their soup came, steaming and fragrant, and they were silent a moment while they ate. It was extremely tasty. Steven drank his down to the dregs, and even Connie only had a little broth left. She even admitted Steven was right before he could tell her he told her so. They got the check.

“Split it?”

“Yup.” 

They paid and left, sadly leftover-less, but happily full and content, and a little sleepy. There was a slight chill in the air and Steven hadn’t brought a coat. When the wind blew, he shivered a little, so Connie wrapped her arm around his waist. 

They got back to the apartment, the pale light from the streetlamp filling the room with a lovely dusky glow. 

“Oooh, nice mood lighting,” Connie remarked. She took her place on the couch again, pulling Steven down to sit next to her. “So…”

“So.”

“Wanna get wasted and make out?” She suggested. 

Steven shrugged, “Eh, Maybe a little bit wasted, or not that wasted.”

“Yeah, I got papers to write tomorrow," Connie sighed, "Or Sunday. Maybe we should get drunk tonight, and then be sober tomorrow.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Steven replied “Except, I just have beer, and I only have like three bottles.”

“I think you just want to make out sober, is that what you’re saying?” Connie teased.

“Uhh, no. Why would I want to make out with you sober, you’re not _that_ cute,” Steven teased back.

“Speak for yourself, ugly.”

“Ouch.” 

They drank their beers on the couch, and shared the last one. They weren’t even close to tipsy, but they made out anyway.


End file.
